


sunrise in yer eyes

by foxkillskat



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Mild Language, No Sex, Post-Time Skip, SakuAtsu, bless big baby atsumu, no beta we die like daichi, nothing graphic, sakuatsu best friends agenda, sleepy omi is an absolute gremlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:09:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29725347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxkillskat/pseuds/foxkillskat
Summary: After the incident, all Miya Atsumu wants is a fresh start.He’ll do anything to get it, too, even if it means dealing with his walking nightmare of a best friend, Sakusa Kiyoomi, at four in the morning.Especially if it means them watching the sunrise side by side.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 167
Collections: Team MSBY Black Jackal Haikyuu





	sunrise in yer eyes

**Author's Note:**

> hey yall, foxkillskat here, up before the sunrise writin this one fer ya 🙏
> 
> never been a mornin person, but theres somethin bout gettin up before the rest of the world, trekkin to the top, and watchin everything around ya light up — especially if yer everything is right there with ya 
> 
> enjoy the sunrise and enjoy the mess!!

Sakusa Kiyoomi is not a morning person. 

Come to think of it, he’s not really a night person either. From the hours of ten in the evening until eight the next day, he’s essentially a walking nightmare — a tangible storm cloud ready to explode with lightning on anyone at any moment for any reason or none at all.

But Miya Atsumu isn’t scared, or at least he would never admit it. He doesn’t need to anyways; he knows the truth. He knows the moment Kiyoomi gets into bed and shuts his eyes, he’s nothing but soft. And he knows this because he’s the only one awake to see it, here in Kiyoomi’s bedroom in the late hours of the night.

If he wants to get technical about it, it’s morning. But what is early morning if not an extension of the night? They’re one in the same, really, and they’re both exactly the type of person Atsumu is. Now catch him at two in the afternoon and that’s a whole other story — then he’s more like Kiyoomi who lies tangled in blankets, face smack dab in a puddle of his own drool.

“Omi-Omi,” Atsumu singsongs as he stands over Kiyoomi. “Yer such a disgustin’ sleeper.”

He swipes a finger in the mess and pokes Kiyoomi in his soft, squishy cheek with it. Kiyoomi mumbles something which sort of sounds like a ‘fuck off’, but Atsumu can’t be sure. Guess he’ll have to find out.

“What was that?” He drops onto the edge of the bed and bounces up and down until the whole thing is shaking.

Kiyoomi’s groan sinks into a growl and he tugs his blanket up high over his head.

Atsumu grabs hold of it. “Can’t hide from me.” 

Hands shoot up, kicking off a game of tug of war between them.

“I knew ya were awake!” Atsumu shouts, putting his full weight into the battle. “Get up.”

Kiyoomi pulls back harder. “Don’t wanna.”

“Aw c’mon, it’s gonna be fun.” Atsumu gives a sharp yank, forcing Kiyoomi upright.

Heavy eyes blink open and pink lips sink into a pout, adorably fed up like one of those grumpy cats. 

Atsumu fights the urge to pet Kiyoomi’s head and flashes a gloating grin instead. “I win.”

Even half-asleep, Kiyoomi is no quitter. A glint flashes in his eyes as he releases the blanket, sending Atsumu crashing to the floor with the full force of his own weight.

“Ow” —he props himself up on his elbows— “yer such a brat.”

Kiyoomi leans over the bed to look down at him and supply his signature little ‘heh’ accompanied by a sleepy smirk plastered across his face.

“I’ll getchya fer that.” Atsumu goes in for a kick.

Bad choice. Kiyoomi catches his leg midair and hugs it tight like it’s his own personal teddy bear, slipper clad foot pressed to his cheek and eyes closing shut with a pleased ‘humph.’

“Let go, ya gremlin.” Atsumu shakes his leg to no avail. Time for plan B. “Ya better wake up, Omi-Omi,” —he wiggles his foot, squishing Kiyoomi’s cheek— “unless ya wanna get my athlete’s foot in yer mouth.”

“Huh?” Kiyoomi’s eyes snap open and he drops Atsumu’s leg like it’s diseased. “Gross.” He swipes at his cheek with his arm. “Do you really have—”

“Nope.” Atsumu shakes out his leg and sits up. “Glad to see yer finally awake, sleepin’ beauty. I was this close to givin’ ya a big ol’ smooch.” He would do it, too. Gladly.

Kiyoomi wrinkles his nose and wipes his eyes, sadly unaffected by the suggestion. “What time is it?” he asks, voice groggy.

“Four.” Atsumu unleashes the violence with a single word.

“In the morning?” Kiyoomi’s screech is a crack of lightning. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I—”

“I want my key back.” Kiyoomi glares, rumbling with thunderous aftershocks. “You clearly can’t be trusted with it.”

“You wish.” Atsumu crosses his arms. “Up with ya. C’mon, we got big plans.”

Kiyoomi lies back down with an audible plop. “I want no part in this.”

“Ya really don’t want any of the onigiri I packed? Guess I’ll have to eat the umeboshi ones all by myself.”

Kiyoomi’s head lifts off the bed enough to fix Atsumu in a weary stare. “Why can’t you go watch the sunrise _all by yourself?_ ” he mocks.

“‘Cause it’s no fun alone,” Atsumu whines.

“You’re just scared to hike up there in the dark.” Kiyoomi dismisses him with a wave of his hand. “Big baby.”

“Am not,” Atsumu argues.

“Are too.”

So what if he’s a little scared? It’s a good distance through the woods, full of noises that make him jump and shadows from trees that look like scraggly arms reaching out to grab hold of his ankles. Anyone would be wary, afraid of the dark or not.

“If I admit it, will ya come?” he tries, hoping he doesn’t sound as desperate as he feels. 

Kiyoomi sighs in dramatic fashion.

“You can sleep in the car on the way; I know ya like the seat warmers,” Atsumu tempts. “You can even bring yer blankie.” He’s tempted to call Kiyoomi a ‘big baby’ too, but he leaves it implied in the way he waves his prize in the air.

“Oh, shut up.” Kiyoomi rolls out of bed and rips it right from Atsumu’s hands only to throw it over the headboard. “I’m coming already.”

That doesn’t mean he’s done throwing his tantrum. Atsumu watches from his spot on the floor as Kiyoomi strips angrily all the way to the closet. Shirt flung atop his nightstand, sweats kicked off under his desk, and he’s halfway through a rough tug at the waistband of his underwear when he slams the door shut behind him.

Atsumu pulls himself up by the bed frame, head still trained on the door as if he could see through solid wood. He can’t tear himself away. It’s not like he doesn’t see Kiyoomi in his underwear nearly every day of the week. It’s not like it should be any different here in his bedroom in the middle of the night, tinged with sleep. 

Except it is. All because of the incident — the one they’re both supposed to forget. Kiyoomi sure isn’t making it easy with his little strip tease, and a part of Atsumu wonders if he’s doing it on purpose, if he’s trying to get Atsumu to follow him into the closet, to let their frustration out in the tight space, knocking hangers to the floor as their wanting hands find each other and—

Nope. Atsumu shakes his head. Kiyoomi was the one who wanted to forget in the first place.

Right on time, he emerges from the closet dressed in a deep green sweatshirt stretched out at the neck to expose a good amount skin from collarbone to shoulder. Even better —or worse— he’s wearing jeans. Not just any jeans. Jeans fitted so goddamn perfect they cling to every curve of his muscular legs, and when he turns around and bends over to collect his discarded sweats from the floor, Atsumu nearly passes out. Illegal. Absolutely illegal.

“Atsu?” 

Atsumu comes to. “Huh?”

“Are you—”

“Did ya just call me Atsu?” Atsumu could swear it.

Kiyoomi freezes. “No. I said Atsumu.”

Atsumu narrows his eyes. “Alrighty, _Omi_.”

Kiyoomi narrows his right back, both doing their best to see through the thick tension in the room. Right as Kiyoomi opens his mouth again, Atsumu runs from his spot. Literally runs.

“Race ya to the car,” he yells over his shoulder.

“What are you? Twelve?” Kiyoomi calls after him, but it does no good.

Being twelve again, being prideful and callous and friendless might be preferable. Anything would be better than spending a single second longer in that room with that bed and that Kiyoomi — the one he can’t have and the one he’s supposed to forget. The one he’s afraid of.

——

Atsumu allows himself to remember only when Kiyoomi isn’t looking, like otherwise he’ll know, like otherwise he’ll hear Atsumu’s thoughts. Often it seems that way. He reads Atsumu like a book, knows when he’s stressed or irritated or up to something with a single look. Really, Kiyoomi just pays attention. It’s one of the things Atsumu likes about him — the way he’s constantly analyzing everything and everyone around him. What can Atsumu say? He’s always enjoyed being watched.

Right now, Kiyoomi isn’t looking. He’s curled up in the passenger seat of Atsumu’s car, sleeves of his sweatshirt pulled over his balled-up fists as he snoozes. Atsumu has to keep reminding himself to keep his eyes on the road.

He taps his fingers on the wheel as the reflective lines blur together. Lines in his life always seem to do that. It would be easier if they stayed solid, separated him from Kiyoomi in some way he couldn’t surpass. Except, if he’s being honest, he doesn’t want that either. If he could go back to that night, he doesn’t even know what he would change. 

Would he keep his hands out of Kiyoomi’s hair? No way; it’s pure silk to the touch, curls wrapping perfectly around each and every one of his fingers. Would he keep his mouth off of Kiyoomi’s neck? Atsumu glances to it, exposed by that stretched out sweatshirt. No, absolutely not. Even right now his first instinct is to lean over and sink his teeth in, to taste that sweet—

Nope. Atsumu straightens and shakes his head. Road. Eyes on the road. His disobedient mind wanders back on its own. 

Would he keep his noises to himself? His whine when Kiyoomi’s hands slid under his shirt? His whimper when Kiyoomi nipped at his ear? His literal moan when Kiyoomi licked across his bottom lip, long and slow? Atsumu purses his lips. Maybe that last one — kinda embarrassing now that he thinks about it. 

But even so, he wants it again; he wants it more than ever. When it happened, when they both broke beneath the weight of that heavy tension and crashed into each other, he was scared. And as much as he hates to admit it, Atsumu is still scared. Anyone would be wary of someone like Kiyoomi: someone storming, someone charged with enough lightning to set the world ablaze with a single strike. But none of it changes the fact Atsumu wants Kiyoomi to touch him.

Kiyoomi, on the other hand, wants to change it all. Kiyoomi wants them to forget. And Atsumu was cowardly enough to agree without argument. That’s it. That’s what he would take back if he could. Too bad it’s too late for that.

Atsumu’s knuckles go white on the wheel. It’s too late for a lot of things, but it’s also extremely early — one in the same, really. Sunrise is approaching, and with it a fresh start, a chance for Atsumu to come out on the other side a new man. Who will he become today? How will he change? All he has to do is leave the memories of yesterday behind, forget what happened and move forward. Easier said than done.

Kiyoomi makes a snuffling noise, pulling Atsumu from his head. Then another. And another.

Atsumu snorts. “Yer snorin’, Omi-kun.”

Kiyoomi doesn’t stir, buried deep beneath the surface of consciousness, lost in the black. Curled up like this, soft and cute, he’s probably one step away from drooling disgustingly all over the passenger seat.

“Feel sorry fer whoever has to sleep with ya,” Atsumu lies to himself with a smile.

——

Kiyoomi continues his snoring all the way to their destination, and no matter how many times or how many ways Atsumu says his name, he refuses to wake up. A finger poked into his cheek has him turning the other way, slumping against the door to resume his rest. Even the slam of the driver side door as Atsumu exits the car has no effect. Time for plan B. Atsumu saunters over to the other side and pulls open Kiyoomi’s door with gusto. Kiyoomi’s dead weight comes with it, seatbelt be damned, and Atsumu barely catches him before he falls to the ground.

“Hey—” Atsumu’s grip on him, like always, is slipping. “Omi-kun, wake up!”

Kiyoomi’s hand shoots up, taking him by the shirt and yanking him down too, bringing his forehead right into the door frame.

“Ow!” A solid shove is enough to throw Kiyoomi back into the car, and Atsumu pulls away holding to his wound.

“What the—” Kiyoomi’s awake now, rubbing his arm where it collided with the center console. “The fuck was that for?”

“This is yer fault!” Atsumu points with his free hand. “Damn near busted my head open.”

Kiyoomi leans out the car to look up at Atsumu, blinking sleep from his eyes. “It’s rude to point.”

“Yeah, and it’s rude to yank people around and make ‘em whack their heads.”

“Come here.” Kiyoomi motions him closer, forgetting his own injury. “Let me see.”

Wary of the door frame, Atsumu crouches beside Kiyoomi. His hand forgets his forehead in favor of holding to the seat, wrist pressed to Kiyoomi’s leg. Still, he sways, ready to fall at moment’s notice. “Am I bleedin’?”

Kiyoomi pushes his fringe back, pad of his thumb trailing slowly around the edge of the sore spot. “No.” 

His touch tingles on the verge of pain, but Atsumu can’t keep himself from pressing into it, asking for more. His grip on the leather tightens, knuckles gone white once again. 

“Only a bruise.” Kiyoomi brushes over the wound gently and Atsumu’s breath hitches. “Sorry.”

In the dark of the night, the indicator lights of the open door catch in Kiyoomi’s eyes, reflect in their black with an intrusive gleam. The crisp air, so bright and fresh only a moment before, shows its teeth and Atsumu shivers. They’re close. Too close, and when Kiyoomi opens his mouth again, Atsumu bolts up, narrowly missing another collision.

“We gotta get goin’ or we won’t make it in time,” he says as he gingerly presses around the wound, unwilling to leave it be, unable to forget it.

“Alright.” Kiyoomi climbs out of the car and throws his arms up in a stretch, an exaggerated yawn leaving his mouth in place of the usual complaint. 

A pleasant surprise, really.

“Let’s get this over with,” Kiyoomi adds, threading his arms through his jacket.

Never mind.

“Yer makin’ it sound like I’m torturin’ ya,” Atsumu gripes as he pulls a flashlight from his jacket pocket. He flicks it on and tosses it to Kiyoomi, who catches it without even looking.

“I would consider being rudely woken up at four in the morning torture. Wouldn’t you?” Kiyoomi holds the flashlight below his chin, beam pointing up to cast shadows over the twisted face he’s making.

“Stop it.” Atsumu laughs as he digs the second flashlight out of his other pocket. “Yer such a gremlin.” He tries the switch, and nothing happens. Then he tries it again. And again.

“I may be a gremlin, but you’re a big—” Kiyoomi stops. “What’s wrong?”

“Must be dead.” Atsumu inhales slowly, pacing himself. “I checked ‘em before I left this mornin’.” He checked them three times to be exact, over and over and over.

“You can have mine if you want.” Kiyoomi holds it out. “I can use my phone or something.”

“No.” Atsumu pushes his hands away too quickly. “This just means you get to lead the way,” he tries to sound light-hearted, but it falls flat.

Kiyoomi gives him that look, the one that reads right through him, but he doesn’t speak the words they’re both thinking; he doesn’t finish his insult from earlier. “Stay close then,” he offers instead.

Atsumu’s stupid heart jumps and he slaps his chest. Then he slaps it again. And again.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothin’.” For once, the dark does him a favor and hides his flushed cheeks. “There was a bug.”

“A bug,” Kiyoomi repeats, deadpan. “And you call me a gremlin.”

Atsumu doesn’t have time to protest. Kiyoomi is latching onto his arm, yanking him toward the path so fast he nearly forgets to tell his feet to move. To be fair, it’s hard to focus on something as unimportant as walking when there are fingers —Kiyoomi’s fingers— digging into him, warm and strong through his jacket and his shirt and his skin. They protect him from the rustling noises growing louder and the shadows growing longer as they follow the trail deeper and deeper and deeper into the dark.

——

The whole way up, Atsumu is stuck in a haze. Half terrified of the heavy black and half thrilled by the hand holding him close, he barely notices they’ve reached the top until the lights of the far-off city start to show. They twinkle, dotting the earth like the fading stars above, and at the very edge of the horizon, past it all, the first signs of sunrise are beginning to show. Hints of pink and orange in the ever-lightening blue peek over the sharp lines of the mountain backdrop, greeting them.

“We made it in time,” Kiyoomi says as he pulls Atsumu toward the edge, curls dancing in the sudden gusts of wind rising up from the valley below.

When they reach the railing, he lets go and Atsumu instantly misses his touch. Drawn to it, he tries to casually press against Kiyoomi under the guise of leaning against the metal bars. They’re close. But not close enough, and Kiyoomi shifts away ever so slightly. To Atsumu, the distance feels like a crack in the earth, a chasm growing wider and deeper by the second. He slumps over the railing, pressing his chest to the cool metal until the wind forces him back, has him wrapping his arms around himself like he wants Kiyoomi to.

“Are you cold?” Kiyoomi asks.

What would happen if Atsumu says yes? Would Kiyoomi offer his jacket, layer it atop his own like a second skin? No, Kiyoomi needs pockets to shove his hands into, to hide them away from the world. Would Kiyoomi press close, shield him from the wind with broad shoulders and strong arms? Unlikely, considering he did the opposite only a moment ago. Would Kiyoomi push him up against the railing and warm him with parted lips and a tongue down his—

“Atsu?”

Atsumu comes to. “Huh?”

“I asked if you—”

“Did ya just call me Atsu?” He did. He so did.

“No,” Kiyoomi snaps. “I said Atsumu. Stop daydreaming.”

Atsumu narrows his eyes. “Alrighty, _Omi_.”

“Don’t call me that.” Kiyoomi turns to face the world below them, refusing to take the bait.

“Ya sure liked it before,” Atsumu mutters under his breath.

“What is your problem?” Kiyoomi steps away and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets.

“What’s yers?” Atsumu throws right back. “Ya keep callin’ me Atsu and then lyin’ ‘bout it. Fuckin’ gaslighter.”

“Gaslighter? Really?”

Kiyoomi is on the verge of another tantrum — Atsumu can feel it coming. The lightning crackling in his storm raises the hair at the back of Atsumu’s neck.

“Yes.” Atsumu grits his teeth and spurs him on with a single word.

“You’re the one who keeps playing pretend,” Kiyoomi rumbles. “You give me that look and then you run away every single time.”

“I’m not runnin’ away.” Atsumu holds on to the railing for dear life. “I’m right here.”

“For now.” Kiyoomi isn’t done shooting sparks from his charged tongue. “The moment it gets to be too much, you’re gone — like it never even happened!”

“Yer the one that wanted to forget!” Atsumu yells, hair whipping in the wind. “I’m only doin’ what you asked.”

Kiyoomi’s glare falters. “I thought you wanted to.”

Atsumu doesn’t say a word.

“You stopped it.” Kiyoomi’s eyes fall to their feet and his shoulders droop. “You didn’t like it.”

“Now yer just makin’ assumptions.” Atsumu throws his hands up in the air. “Of course I liked it. I like you.”

Kiyoomi’s brows come together. “You like me?”

Atsumu facepalms, wincing as he hits the bump on his forehead he was finally starting to forget. “Are ya fuckin’ serious right now?” he asks them both. 

“Yes.”

The wind lessens. Atsumu opens his eyes and Kiyoomi is close. Too close. Almost as close as they were that night.

“If you like me and you liked” —his lips twitch at the corner of their frown— “it, then why did you stop? Why did you pull away?”

Atsumu stares at those lips, the ones which were once on his, the ones he wants and the ones he fears. “I don’t know,” he lies.

“You were scared, weren’t you,” Kiyoomi calls him out, reading his mind.

“Was not.”

“Were too.”

“Fine.” Atsumu crosses his arms, making space between them. “I was.”

“Of what?” Kiyoomi presses. “What is there to be scared of?”

“That it would ruin our friendship.” Atsumu tenses, tightening his hold on himself. “That ya wouldn’t like doin’ those things with me.” He trains his eyes on the razor-sharp edge of Kiyoomi’s jaw. “Or that once we did ‘em, ya wouldn’t have any reason to keep spendin’ time with me.”

“Why would you think that?” Kiyoomi’s hand finds Atsumu in the same spot, shifting his gaze up and locking it in.

Atsumu shrugs as nonchalant as he possibly can in Kiyoomi’s touch. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Would too.” Kiyoomi’s eyes sink into his. “Would never happen with me.”

Atsumu stares back. In that black, in that stormy night he finds the unexpected. He finds colors there he hasn’t seen before: pinks and oranges growing brighter and brighter and brighter still. The sun is rising between them. Who will they become today? How will they change?

Kiyoomi’s thumb brushes the edge of his jaw and with the slightest press, the softest pull, Atsumu can feel the want, sense the undercurrent between them deep in his heart, the spot where lightning aches to strike. From dusk to dawn, awake Kiyoomi is a walking nightmare, a storm ready to suck Atsumu in and shock him to his core. Sunrise Kiyoomi carries this with him too, but it’s soft on the edges and bright in the eyes. Beautiful as ever.

Atsumu didn’t realize he could hold it all in his hands and his heart, keep the old and become new to grow into something better, something greater without shedding a single skin.

Atsumu didn’t realize he could love Kiyoomi more. 

He releases himself, arms uncrossing as he opens up to the idea of it, prepares for the possibility. There’s only one thing he has to leave behind.

In a flash of lightning, Atsumu finds Kiyoomi’s lips exactly as he remembered, exactly as he failed to forget. They hold tight to each other until the rumbling thunder fades. They’re close — closer than they were that night, closer than they ever were before. In the glow of the sunrise, in the light of the coming day they move together with wanting hands and willing tongues, noises from deep within their throats lost to the blustery winds. In it, they’re new. In it, they’re free of fear.

And when they break like dawn, the brilliant colors remain reflected in Kiyoomi’s eyes right where they belong, right where they’re going to stay.

Kiyoomi’s lips pull tight at their corners. “You’re not going to run away now, are you?”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere, Omi,” Atsumu answers with a smile that rivals the rising sun. “I’m not scared.”

Kiyoomi’s grin grows to match. “Alrighty, Atsu.”


End file.
